


Orchid Fatale

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Brock Rumlow reads real newspapers, Darcy loves twinkle lights, F/M, Sex Pollen Trope But Funny, There is an orchid that smells like coconut, Vision is So Blue Man Group, triple agent brock rumlow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 16:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16664155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Darcy thinks she's going to have a quiet week in the Tower. It's mid-November, everyone's gone, and it's just her and her ostensible security, Brock Rumlow, hanging around the lab. It'll be quiet.And it is quiet. Until Darcy's Christmas gift to herself gets mixed up with Bruce's latest research plant delivery. They're both orchids, but one of them is just a regular orchid and the other has side-effects that are more...complicated. Allegedly.





	1. A Quiet Week

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing!

As she left she and Jane’s apartment in Williamsburg to get on the subway, Darcy expected it to be a quiet week in lab management and Scientist Wrangling! in Avengers Tower. Jane and Thor were off in Norway on a combined astronomical readings-romance vacation  and Tony was taking Pepper to Maui for a “can we be not on a break?” talk. That left Bruce Banner as her only real responsibility. Bruce had told Darcy take the week off. You could trust Bruce not to get into trouble (well, he hulked out, but never intentionally) without Tony around. Bruce and Tony were like those kids you babysat sometimes; one a total angel on his own, the other a complete devil. The devil child would always talk the angel child into, like, jumping off the roof with a blanket tied on his shoulders. But solo, Bruce was very responsible. She would have taken the week, but Darcy had some unfinished work to do. She was recopying and transferring Jane’s backup files from their hidden server after that whole Ultron hot mess. Tony and his robot armies, she thought, mentally sighing. It had made Jane more paranoid about her research security at Stark, so Darcy knew she’d actually relax better on her vacation if Darcy texted her to say all the files were present and accounted for (the paranoia was also why Darcy had a commute, to her eternal sorrow; she’d wanted a Tower apartment, but Jane had vetoed). The other Tower part-time residents--Steve, Natasha, and Wanda, occasionally, Sam Wilson--were gone, too. They tended wander off when there wasn’t a threat to the world’s continued existence and whatnot. Especially in mid-November, since it was so close to the holidays. Darcy held onto the subway bar in her winter gloves. At least there would be no one to make fun of her for listening to Christmas music this early, if she was alone in the lab. She wanted to listen to She & Him’s _Christmas Party._ Or maybe Diana Krall, only Krall made her sad sometimes. It was something to do with the combined effect of being single at the holidays and the way she sang “What Are You Doing on New Year’s Eve?”

***

When Darcy swiped her card to enter the building, she dearly hoped the Norns had taken pity on her and that Wanda Maximoff had let Vision tag along with her, too. He creeped her out, which was weird, because she’d loved Jarvis. But that dude was not Jarvis. Jarvis had laughed at her jokes. Vision just stared, in that Blue Man Group way. Creepy. She didn’t care if Mew-Mew liked him. Also, wasn’t he, like, _too old_ for little Wanda? It was difficult to tell when someone was the love child of the Cradle and the Blue Man Group. Darcy thought Wanda should be at NYU or Columbia or something, dating ridiculous people her own age, getting a weird work study, and sleeping through her 8am seminar on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, like most twenty year olds. She’d already told Tony to offer Wanda a full scholarship to wherever and talk to the admissions office about letting her in for the spring semester. For sure they’d jump on it; universities wanted to be on Tony Stark’s good side, so he’d endow ‘em with gobs of cash and his future papers. Mostly, the cash.

 

“Hi, George!” Darcy called to the guy manning the lobby desk. He was one of Happy’s protegees. Happy and Pepper had demanded that Tony continue to use _actual humans_ for more SI stuff after the Ultron mess. When Tony’s robots went AWOL, it always made him depressed, too, so it was a general welfare policy, honestly.

“Good morning, Darcy. Slow week for you, huh?” he said, smiling.

“I hope so,” Darcy said. “I love the lobby decorations,” she told him. They’d done some very tasteful and nondenominational white twinkle lights and what looked like hella expensive crystal snowflakes. Had to be a Pepper thing. It was very Instagram.

“It’ll just be you and Mr. Rumlow,” George supplied. “Mr. Rollins left for Melbourne this morning. Going to see his parents.”

“Aww, I missed Jack? Bummer,” Darcy said. She liked Jack; she wished she could say the same for his Platonic Lifemate in Parachuting Out of Quinjets and Shooting People. Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins were the ex-SHIELD agents who’d been transferred to SI security after the HYDRA Uprising in DC. They’d been undercover triple agents and now all of HYDRA wanted to kill them. So, they did some building security and planning work and Avengers mission logistics for Steve, who was always willing to give people a second chance. Tony, Darcy, and Jane were a little more skeptical; but Nat and Fury _had_ rescued Jack and Brock from the collapsing Triskelion in that helicopter, so, Jane let them in her lab, albeit with a fair amount of suspicion. Jack had won them over quickly--he was actually _Australian_ and liked turquoise rings, two traits that assured Darcy that he was perfectly harmless, despite his terrifying facial expressions--by being laid-back and helpful. Jack was totally unfazed by Jane’s workaholism and would help Darcy carry her to a car if Thor wasn’t available. He also watched _Great British Bake Off_ with them.  But Rumlow was unfriendly: he tended to skulk in corners, make sarcastic remarks, and disappear for long periods, which made Darcy and Jane wonder about his real allegiance. It was really sad, Darcy thought, that one-half of the male Jane and Darcy of Nazi Org Infiltration was so damn difficult to like.

 

***

 

Darcy made a brief stop in the breakroom to make beverages, brought Bruce a green tea--patting his head affectionately and making him blush--then brought two coffees into the lab. She found Rumlow already in the lab, his usual chunky boots propped on the table as he read the newspaper. “Good morning, Rumlow,” she said. Did being embedded in HYDRA make you like Gestapo boots, she frequently wondered?

“Yeah,” he said, without looking at her from behind the _New York Times._ Rumlow insisted on reading actual paper newspapers everyday; one of the few ways you could get him to talk was to ask about whatever local outrage was being perpetuated on the city that week. Darcy had learned not to ask after he’d gone off a tangent once about water and sewer corruption in the Bronx that had lasted for a whole afternoon. He was from there originally, it turned out. He’d grown up in the vicinity of what he called “ _real_ Little Italy, not that tourist trap on Mulberry Street,” whatever that meant. He was a young-looking Grumpy Old Man, in that he reminded Darcy of those retired men who watched cable news all day, just to complain about the state of the world. Tony teased him by calling him “Old Rambo.” Which he kinda was; Darcy had been shocked to find he was actually fifty-one. He looked barely older than her thirty-two. She would have guessed forty, max. Those HYDRA serums did a body good.

“I brought you a plain latte,” she told him, setting it down. She preferred flavored ones: vanilla, caramel, mocha, pumpkin spice.

“Mmm-hmm,” he said. Taking that as the best she could get under the circumstances, Darcy went over to her desk to work. There was a small box of cupcakes next to her wireless mouse.

“What’s this?” she said out loud. She didn’t expect a reply.

“You’ve never seen a cupcake before?” Rumlow said, turning a page of the newspaper.

“Am I allowed to eat them?” she asked archly.

“No, I put them on your desk to torture you slowly, because I know how much you like children’s sprinkles, Lewis,” he said.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes. “I appreciate you bringing me cupcakes.”

“Don’t thank me too much, I wanted one. You’re the lucky beneficiary of my craving for Italian cream cake,” he said.

“Well, that’s just---” Darcy began.

“It kinda makes you like one of those parasitic animals that clings to a larger one for food. You’re a barnacle, Lewis,” he mused out loud.

“You’re rude,” she muttered. He chuckled.

 

She’d been working in the quiet lab for an hour or so--truthfully, the Italian cream cupcakes were very good and she was having to resist the urge to eat all of them--when an SI internal delivery guy knocked. He was carrying a box that said “Live Cargo” and Rumlow put his newspaper down and stood up, alert. He cut Darcy off, making it to the door first. “What kind of live cargo, pal?” he asked. The delivery guy shrunk back.

“Um, it’s a flower?” he said, looking at his forms. “Vanilla Orchidis something?” he said.

“My flower! It’s early, I wasn’t expecting it so soon,” Darcy said excitedly. She’d ordered herself an orchid last week. It was her first one.

“Your flower?” Rumlow said, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh-huh, it’s my Christmas present to me,” she said, taking the box. “It’s supposed to smell like coconuts. Thank you,” she said to the delivery man, who looked relieved to be able to escape Rumlow’s general air of _I’m going to frighten you to death like it’s in my job description._

 

“I wonder why this is so wrapped up?” Darcy said out loud, as she unwrapped her orchid. Were there people allergic to the smell of coconuts, maybe? Still, this one seemed wildly over-packaged considering it came from a hothouse in New Jersey. Rumlow made an indeterminate noise from behind the Style section. “It’s beautiful,” Darcy said, when she’d finally cut away all the protective packaging and removed the thin mesh that surrounded the plant. It was like a veil. As if they wanted the plant to breathe, but none of the dirt or leaves to escape? The plant itself was a pale green with tubular magenta blossoms with creamy yellow edges. She leaned down to sniff it. “Huh,” Darcy said frowning.

“What?” Rumlow said.

“It doesn’t smell like coconuts, it almost smells like vanilla,” she said. “Come and smell?” she asked. Was she smelling her own perfume, she wondered? She was wearing J by Jennifer Aniston; it smelled like vanilla, clean musk, and a hint of magnolia. Darcy loved scented things and kept several fragrance mists in her desk to spray whenever she got bored. Rumlow teased her about it. He stood up and walked over, leaning down to sniff.

“Yup, vanilla. You got conned. They sent you the wrong fancy plant, Nero Wolfe,” he said sarcastically. Darcy had a bit of a Timothy Hutton thing; he’d caught her watching the show sometimes. But she liked the books, too. She didn't just watch for the pretty man in really good 1940s suits.

“Boo,” Darcy said. “It does smell good, though, doesn’t it?” she leaned down to sniff again. Her nose touched the plant and came away with a bit of something on it.

“You got dirt on you,” Rumlow said. He wiped at her nose with his tanned thumb. “Why is it all shiny?” he asked, rubbing it between his fingers.

“That’s not dirt, I think it’s just a little pollen,” Darcy said. It was a shimmering creamy-yellow, like a paler version of the pine tree pollen that had coated everything at Culver during the spring. “I didn’t realize it would be shiny, though,” she said, leaning down to smell again. The scent of the flower seemed to get richer the longer it sat. Brock leaned down to smell it, too, and she half-shoved him away.

“Don’t Bogart the fancy plant, Lewis,” Rumlow said.

 

They were both smelling the orchid when Bruce Banner walked by. “Darce, I think I got your package, the delivery guy brought me the wrong plant--” he was saying as he made to step through the doorway. “Oh, no,” Bruce said suddenly, in a horrified voice. He stepped out of the room quickly, like the floor had burned his feet and hit the emergency--unofficially, the “Hulk Out” button--panel at the edge of the lab door.

“Bruce? What are you _doing_?” Darcy said, as the emergency functions began to seal off the lab with them inside. A heartsick-looking Bruce glanced around as if he was looking for something, put his finger up in the universal professor symbol for ‘just a sec,’ and then walked away.

“What the fuck is going on?” Rumlow said, marching up to the glass. “He’s sealed us in? Is this a prank?”

“There must be a good reason,” Darcy said. “Bruce isn’t Tony.” A minute or so later, Bruce returned, pushing a whiteboard. He had a dry erase marker in his hand.

“What’s going on?” Rumlow yelled through the glass.

“It’s soundproofed for explosions,” Darcy told him.

“Fantastic,” Rumlow said.

“Actually, it’s to protect your hearing when Tony blows things up, it’s also designed to absorb shock, to crack but not break, all that stuff,” she explained. Bruce was writing on the whiteboard.

 

 _We got the plants mixed up_ , he’d written. Darcy nodded and did a thumbs up. _You got my plant,_ Bruce wrote. _I’ve been working on an experimental project to blend an anti-Hulk serum out of multiple plant extracts--_

“Are we going to Hulk or something?” Rumlow asked, looking dubious.

“I don’t think so,” Darcy said. Bruce was still writing: _\--and that is one of my plants. It has a very specialized function, allegedly, and I was going to test its effects._

“Get to the point, Banner!” Rumlow yelled.

“He can’t hear you and he’s a terrible lip-reader,” Darcy said. She went over to the desk, retrieved her notebook--it had a funny new pug drawing from Steve in it; she made a happy noise---and flipped to a blank page. _Is this a murder plant?_ Darcy wrote in her loopy scrawl, pressing the notebook against the glass when she was done. Bruce shook his head.

“Thank fucking God,” Rumlow muttered, pulling at his collar. “Why is it so hot in here?”

“Lack of air circulation? We’re like an airplane at this point,” Darcy said. She felt a little warm, too. Bruce wrote a question on the whiteboard: _Did you both have physical skin contact with the plant and/or it’s pollen?_

Darcy nodded. Bruce ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and looked upset.

“What the hell does it do?” Rumlow said, then realizing Bruce was terrible at lip-reading, he snatched Darcy’s notebook and wrote the question in a slashing hand. He underlined the last word vehemently, then slapped the notebook against the glass. Bruce turned back to the whiteboard.

_I cannot be 100% certain of its factual properties, but it is allegedly a cousin of vanilla planifolia found in New Guinea. I was going to test the genetic sequence, since vanilla planifolia (commercial vanilla) has a soothing effect on the Other Guy--_

“Uh-huh, Natasha told me,” Darcy said wryly. She winked and did a double thumbs up. Bruce blushed, having understood the word “Natasha” probably.

“Romanoff?” Rumlow said incredulously.

“She wears a vanilla-based perfume. Shalimar. He likes it a lot,” Darcy said.

“I didn’t know they had a...thing. Can the Hulk have a thing?” Rumlow said.

“It’s very Fay Wray,” Darcy said. “He toted her up a mountain on their last date and when he un-Hulked, they had cheese and grapes.” Bruce was still writing, but Darcy noticed his ears were pink. “She thinks he’s adorable. Which, let’s be fair, he is.”

“Adorable?” Rumlow said incredulously.

“It’s the rumpled curls, probably,” Darcy said.

“He’s the Hulk,” Rumlow said, pulling at his shirt collar in a fanning motion, like Darcy’s grandma whenever it was stuffy. Darcy turned back to Bruce, who was doing a long historical explanation of the plant’s chemical makeup and uses, stretching back to its first recorded mention in 1754.

 _\--these isolated communities in New Guinea have long used it in marriage ceremonies--_ he’d written.

“Aww,” Darcy said, “It’s a love orchid!”

“What kind of love orchid?” Rumlow said, looking alarmed. He snatched the notebook again and scrawled something too quickly for Darcy to read, then slapped it against the glass. Bruce swallowed, turned back, and paused. His marker hovered over the un-covered part of the board. Finally, he pressed the blue marker against the white surface and began to write. A four-word sentence. Darcy inhaled. Brock swore. Bruce looked back at them, mouthed the word sorry, then underlined the sentence.

_It’s a sex pollen._


	2. I'm Going to Name That Fish Leilani

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy preps for emergencies by requesting snacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments and kudos! Y'all are the best!

“No, no fucking way,” Rumlow said. “Those things are dangerous. He brought in a plant that will _kill_ us if we don’t screw each other?” Darcy laughed. “Why are you laughing?” Rumlow asked her.

“Because. Sex pollen is a total myth. You don’t actually believe in it, do you?” she said.

“I’ve heard field stories,” Rumlow said, yanking at his shirt a little more. She noticed his neck looked a little pink.

“Bullshit,” Darcy said, giggling. “It’s a transparent excuse for people to act on latent attraction. How many of those people weren’t already attracted to each other?”

“I dunno,” Rumlow said.

“There are no documented toxins that amplify desire and are simultaneously cured by orgasm and if there was, Pfizer and Eli Lilly would be all over it,” she said calmly. “Every manufacturer of Cialis and Viagra is desperate to make a female version of the boner pill. Sex pollen would be the miracle cure for every American woman with sexual dysfunction who doesn’t experience desire or has low libido. We’re talking billions of dollars in untapped patients”--Rumlow snickered and Darcy rolled her eyes at his juvenile behavior--”ergo, sex pollen isn’t real, because if it was, it would be at every pharmacy by now.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Rumlow said. “I’ve never met a woman with a libido problem. You seem to be an expert, though,” he said sarcastically.

“I asked your mom,” she sassed him.

“Hey,” he began. Bruce tapped firmly on the glass. Darcy looked up in surprise. He’d written more on the whiteboard:   _I’m going to have my lab assistant retrieve the plant, once we get him a hazmat suit. I want him to attach heart rate monitors to both of you and he can get you anything you’ll need until we feel you’re safe to be unmonitored._

“Anything we need?” Rumlow said, sounding oddly fretful. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I’m sure he means food and drinks and shampoo or whatever, we have an attached bathroom,” she told him. She was glad Jane’d insisted on a private one in the lab with a shower. She wrote a list in her notebook. “What do you want?” she asked Rumlow.

“Cheez-Its?” he said. “We’ve been sex pollened and you want Cheez-Its?”

“I always want Cheez-Its,” she said. “There’s nothing you want if we’re sealed in for a day or two? I’m putting down clothes and toiletries, too.”

“No,” Brock said. “Why is he sending an assistant?”

“Obvious reasons,” Darcy said. Brock raised an eyebrow and Darcy actually laughed.

“What?” Rumlow said.

“You want to have a threesome with the Hulk if the hazmat suit fails?” she asked.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Rumlow said, looking terrified.

“So, you’re okay with Jerry?” she asked. Jerry was Bruce’s assistant, an unflappably sarcastic post-doc from Aberdeen. He had red-brown hair, liked to kayak, and well, Darcy so would not mind indulging in a little _Outlander_ type fun herself, should the suit fail. UK accents were her kryptonite. Jane liked to joke that she was the only person in the world who thought people from Yorkshire sounded hot.

“If I have no other fucking choice,” Rumlow said grimly, as she wrote down more snacks. Darcy thought she might want popcorn if she could watch Tony’s streaming service on her desktop.

“It’s really not going to be a problem,” she said. “Nothing’s going to happen. It’ll be--at worst--a really boring lab stay, like when Jane refuses to leave.”

“Put condoms on the damn list,” Rumlow said in low voice. “Not just Pirate’s Booty, for fuck’s sake.”

Darcy burst out laughing.

“As if, Old Rambo,” she told him. “You try anything with me, I’ll tase you into 2020.”

“Oh, it’s not gonna be _me._ I need the protection from you. I don’t know if you’ll suddenly turn crazy,” he said. “What if I can’t stop you?”

“Oh, yes, very realistic scenario there, you being overpowered by a petite woman with zero upper body strength, you who fought you way out of DC with like, a Ginsu knives collection in your shoes and whatever guns you could find,” Darcy said, laughing.

“I wouldn’t want to kill you,” he said seriously. “If this stuff really works like it’s supposed to…..”

“It totally doesn’t,” Darcy scoffed. “We’ll probably end up with mild contact dermatitis from the pollen and a funny story.”

“How can you be so confident?” he said.

“Because I went to college,” she said cheerfully, quoting Gus from _Psych._

“Excuse me, I went to the Naval Academy,” he said, sounding offended. “You have to have a recommendation from Congress. I’m not some lunkhead, Lewis.”

“It’s a tv show reference, I wasn’t calling you ignorant,” she said, sighing. God, he was worse than Cap. Steve never got offended when you worked in a casual reference. It was really too bad she hadn’t been sex pollened with Steve. She wouldn’t mind terribly if the Star Spangled Man with a Plan was highly suggestible. She let that warm and thrilling thought carry her until Jerry arrived, his breathing oddly loud and Vader-like in the suit. Then she cracked jokes and tried to make Jerry laugh as he attached the heart monitor, drew her blood, and grinned at her list.

“Condoms, eh?” he said.

“That’s not happening,” Darcy said. “Not at all.”

“Innit?” Jerry said, winking at her. He’d picked up that Brock was more edgy, Darcy realized, from the way he was very seriously giving Brock a talk about possible symptoms.

“Jerry, say _Brock, I am your father,_ please?” Darcy asked, when he’d gotten most of the work done. Brock groaned. Jerry laughed.

“No,” Brock said. “Do not.” Jerry was drawing his blood, too.

“Pleeeease? You’re not too old for _Star Wars_ , are you?” Darcy said.

“I’m not Cap’s age, Lewis,” Brock said, sounding miffed again. It was really fun to tease him, given how much he grumped up her lab on the daily. This absurd accident had thrown him for a loop. Which was ridiculous. The pollen might have some relevant applications for newlyweds or something--maybe it would turn out it increased blood circulation--but you couldn’t counterfeit desire. Not at the bonkers level typically linked to sex pollen. It was about as real as  El Dorado. Nope, nope, nope. People just lived in semi-denial about their little field attractions, saw a suspiciously useful plant, and boffed each others’ brains out ‘cause they’d always secretly wanted to, Darcy thought. Jerry was checking Brock’s reflexes and Darcy grinned as he bent in front of her.

“Hey, Jerry,” she said, “you been working out?”

“You hear that? It’s starting,” Brock said, “she’s totally checking out your ass.”

“Please, she does that to me everyday,” Jerry said dryly. “Pinched my arse on Tuesday, didn’t you, you naughty quine?”

“Hey, what the hell does that mean?” Brock said, sounding like he wanted get a little aggressive with Jerry.

“He’s just calling me a girl in Aberdeen slang, it’s fine,” Darcy explained.

“You’re a little tarty, though,” Jerry said cheerfully, as he departed with her snacks list.

“Where does he get off, talking to you like that?” Brock said. Darcy snorted. “What?” he said.

“Get off?” she said. “It’s a word choice.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Lewis,” he said.

“You’ve heard the Prince song, right? It’s slightly a bummer that Prince never made a holiday album, but I think Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t do Christmas. Isn’t that sad? No Christmas, no birthdays,” she said.

“I’m trapped here. I’m trapped,” he repeated. “I can’t stop sweating.”

“I’ll see if I can find my Minion fan,” Darcy said reaching down to look in her junk toy drawer.

“Dear God, don’t bend over _in front of me right now._ I need a damn cupcake,” Brock muttered. He stomped over to the cupcake box.

“You realize you’ve just tacitly admitted that I’m right? If I can put my mind in the gutter, it’s a free will issue, not a pollen issue?” she said. “Brock?” She turned to look at him. He was shoving a cupcake in his mouth and chewing methodically. He was all sweaty.

“I’m going to take a cold shower,” he announced, once he’d swallowed the last bite of his cupcake. Their private bathroom had a shower, in case you needed to rinse off anything hazardous. “Do not play Prince while I’m in there.” He pointed at her. “You understand?”

“What about Madonna? George Michael? You remember the video with all the supermodels, right? You’re old enough!” Darcy called to him as he retreated. The back of his shirt was damp in a v shape. She giggled. Who knew he--of all people!--was so suggestible?

 

She decided to play Madonna. He hadn’t forbidden Madge, right? So, she blasted “Hung Up” and “La Isla Bonita” and danced in her chair until Jerry got there with a cart. It was piled with snacks and drinks. “Oooh, Jerry, Diet Dr. Pepper! How did you know? You’re the best, baby,” she said flirtatiously.

“Just a wee bit of snacks for you, my wee bit of stuff,” he said, winking from inside his hazmat suit. “I brought you our mini coffee maker, too. Where’s Rumlow?”

“Taking a cold shower because you psychosomatically induced all those symptoms you told him about, you mad Scotsman,” Darcy said.

“Oh, it weren’t me, love. It’s you and those tits of yours,” he said cheerfully. “Them that he’s always looking at when you’re looking at Foster’s readouts.”

“Lies, all lies,” Darcy said. “He’s always ignoring me for the _NYT_. Wait, do you really think so?” she asked suddenly. She sat up and looked at Jerry seriously. Jerry rolled his eyes.

“Follow me, you naive little tart,” he said gesturing and leading Darcy over to Rumlow’s chair in the corner. “Sit down.” Darcy said. “Whaddya notice from here?” Jerry asked.

“Ummm, hallway sightlines and my desk?” Darcy said, pulling a face. “So?”

“Spends all day staring at you, he does,” Jerry said. “He’s probably cut holes in that newspaper.”

“Huh,” Darcy said, biting her lip, thoughtfully.

 

“I’ve got an air mattress and blankets on the cart with the condoms,” Jerry said. “You’ll be at it like rabbits soon enough.” Before he left, he showed her to the button for lowering the blinds in the lab.

“I didn’t know we had those!” Darcy said.

“Apparently, there’s an odd rule that all glassed in offices have to have blinds. I’m told it dates to Howard Stark’s day. Dunno why?” Jerry said.

“Oh, I do,” Darcy said. She filled in Jerry about Howard.

“Ah, these Starks, they’re Scottish Starks, aren’t they?” he asked. “We’re all virile.” He winked.

 

***

 

“Do you have any pets that need feeding?” Darcy asked Brock as they sat in the lab. He’d stress-eaten the last cupcakes after his cold shower. She’d let him. He’d emerged from the shower dressed in the clothes he’d carried in and evidently freezing.

“Uh, yeah, but I can text someone to feed them,” he said.

“Them?” she said.

“I have fish,” he said. “They’re low-maintenance.”

“What kind of fish?” Darcy asked.

“Tropical fish,” he said. “They’re calming.”

“What are their names?” she asked.

“I didn’t name them, I just watch them,” he said.

“You didn’t name them?” she asked, horrified. Darcy named everything. Her mini-taser was named Alice Cullen (very small, stylish, but lethal bite), the bigger one was named after Carmilla, Sheridan Le Fanu’s female vampire. She’d switched over to girls’ names when Jane suggested that Dracula IV was getting a little repetitive.

“It’s not like I call them,” he said.

“Still,” she said.

“If we live, Lewis, you can name my fish,” he said.

“You promise?” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“Sweet, I’m going to make a list of names. How do you feel about Nemo? But if they’re tropical fish, you could go with a really pretty Polynesian name like Leilani? Just where in the tropics are these fish from?” she said.

“It’s so stuffy in here,” he muttered, wiping his forehead with the edge of his t-shirt. “I feel weird...like edgy or hyper?”

“You had three cupcakes in thirty minutes, you don’t eat that much sugar on the daily,” she told him. “You don’t know how to ride the sugarcane dragon and you feel like a twelve year old Darcy after too many Pixi Sticks, my dude. It's a sugar rush.” Not that she'd ever had abs like that, she thought. She’d glimpsed them when he lifted the edge of his shirt. He was definitely yummier than the freaking cupcakes.

He swallowed and there was a lull.

“I feel like I’m having chills, too,” he said mournfully.  “When I got out of the shower….” _The ice cold shower?_ she wanted to snark, but he was legit freaking out. He got up and started to pace the lab. Darcy sat up on the lab table and then lay back, putting one of Jerry’s pillows behind her head. “Can you not do that?” Brock said.

“What?” Darcy said.

“Lying down like that,” he said. “It’s...distracting.”

“You’ll be fine. Mind over matter. Breathe deeply or something?” she suggested. When he sat and tried to do calming breaths, he got weirdly agitated. “Brock,” she said seriously, “you aren’t going to die, okay?” She slid off the table and walked over to pat the top of his head. It was something she did with Bruce, Thor, Jane, anyone, really, platonically, but he looked up at her with an expression so smouldering that it startled her for a second. Like, whoa. The man had a fuck-me face like a lot of women had fuck-me shoes. There was a long moment where they just stared at one another. _Well_ , Darcy thought, _I wouldn’t mind that look in combination with those abs, either._

“It’s starting for you, too,” he said, bolting up in alarm. “I’m gonna go--I gotta go.” He locked himself in the bathroom.

 

Jerry called her on the phone. “Did ya scare ‘im into hiding, you slag?” he teased.

“He can’t handle what I’m bringing, Jer,” she joked. “I’m too much woman for him.”

“Where’d he go? Under the table?” he asked. He could see with the hallway cameras.

“Hiding in the bathroom again,” she said, hearing the cold water run.

“Banner says you got about twelve hours of monitoring left, love. We’re running your blood work now. You don’t feel any different at all?” he asked.

“Nope,” Darcy said. “Not a bit.”

“You got him so whipped, he’s delusional,” Jerry said, roaring with laughter. "Americans are so repressed." She heard him shift the phone away from his jaw. “Bruce, you’ve got to hear this. He’s hidin' in the washroom!” 

 

***

 

Eventually, Brock returned again, hair damp, looking anxious. She watched him fret and pace and stress eat for another two hours. By then, it was starting to get on her nerves. Also, interrupting her ability to watch television. She hit the button for the blinds. “Lewis, what are you doing?” he said, as they lowered. Bless Howard Stark, they were full-on privacy shades. Jane had only agreed to work for SI if her lab had zero cameras, so Darcy could disrobe without Tony getting any awkward angles of her naked self to show at, like, Thanksgiving.

“I can’t take this anymore,” she told him truthfully.

“You can’t?” he said.

“I’m starting to feel warm. So warm,” she lied. She pulled a little at the neckline of her blouse. “Like I’m burning up. Will you help me feel better?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Scottish Jerry--Gerald Butler--teaches you Scottish slang: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c42dvgPIfSk


	3. Placebo? Nocebo?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna miss Jerry, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos! Y'all are the best.

He’d crossed the room and pulled her into his arms within seconds. Darcy was taken aback, not just by his embrace, but by how aggressively he kissed her. He craned his neck to press his mouth down against hers without hesitation. His hands--sliding up her back, under her shirt--were warm.   _Jesus_ , she thought, _he’s literally hot-blooded. How long has been since he had sex? Does he just go home and stare at the nameless fish?_

“This okay? You feel better?” he said, pulling away from her for a second. It interrupted her train of thought about how hard up he must be. His eyes were even fucked up, she realized, pupils wide, irises thin. Placebo horniness was a thing? Or was it nocebo horniness? She always got them mixed up. She’d ask Jerry later. Or Jane. They’d know.

“Yeah,” Darcy said, nodding and licking her lips.

“Me, too.” He’d mimicked her liplicking and was breathing a little shakily.

“You want to get the blankets?” she asked. “Get on the floor?”

“Yeah,” he said, kissing her slowly.

 

She had to suppress peals of laughter when he stopped sucking on her bottom lip to _inflate an air mattress._ The mattress inflated with an automatic machine, but still: that wasn’t enough to clue him in that there was no such thing as sex pollen? She was fairly certain that worrying about your lover’s comfort was mutually incompatible with ostensible sex-mania. However, it was very sweet when he coaxed her into his lap as they waited. “Don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he said, running his hands between her thighs gently and kissing her. They were tender kisses.

 

Once they had the mattress and blankets all situated--God, he was fussy for a man, she thought--he immediately started kissing her more forcefully again. She had to repress a trollish smirk as he kissed down her neck, his stubble rough against her skin. She still felt totally normal. Well, as normal as you could feel with a hot guy sucking on your earlobe and undoing your buttons. She was all warm, but no differently than when she’d had sex with Ian. Or fantasized about Prince Harry. Mario Lopez in a towel. She made a mental note that she and Jane should watch that silly Hallmark holiday movie where Mario walked around in a towel again this Christmas. “Oh God, baby, you’re so pretty,” he groaned, when he had her shirt off and her thermal leggings around her ankles, pulling them away. “I just can’t control myself around you,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” she said, biting her lip so she couldn’t laugh. She got a fraction more serious as he got the box of condoms and started taking his own clothes off. “Wow,” she said, when he straddled her legs.

“Wow?” he said, smiling.

“Double wow,” she said, reaching out to pet his abs and stroke the line of dark hair that ran down his groin. He was hard already. She guessed he’d been dealing with that on and off all day.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured as she touched him. “That feels good. So good.”

“You want to give me those condoms?” she said.

“I got it,” he said, tearing open the packet.

“You’re sure you want this, right?” she asked him, settling back and feeling a pang of guilt as he put the condom on. She was totally unaffected by the pollen. Was this fair? If he believed he was under the influence--even if there was clearly nothing but suggestion involved--did that mean she was manipulating him?

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he said. Darcy laughed.

“Really?” she said. He leaned down over top of her, parting her knees gently.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. He kissed her slowly. “I want you so much.”

“Will you still want me tomorrow? When this has worn off?” she teased, as he settled his weight on top of her. She didn’t think he actually would. It was going to be hella awkward. But she could keep things on the DL.

“God, yes,” he said. “Not gonna change.” He pushed inside her and she shuddered at the wave of friction and pleasure.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

“Yeah we are,” he said teasingly, kissing the side of her face.

 

She’d assumed they’d have sex once and he’d calm down once his fear of literal death by pollen evaporated, but he surprised her. He was relentless. She would nap for awhile, tangled in his arms, then he would start kissing her, she would wake, and he’d initiate sex another time. “You’re prodding me again?” she teased, when she woke up to the press of his erection against her and the drag of his stubble across her neck.

“Stimulating you,” he said in her ear. “Enticing you?” He chuckled. “I was never good at those fucking vocab quizzes in school. I’m not wordy or whatever that shit is.” They were slowly moving together when there was a loud rap at the door.

“Oy, you skanks, I’ve got food,” Jerry called out. “Are you done pumping yet?”

“Go away,” Brock said.

“No way, pally, I wanna hear if she’s as good as she thinks she is?” Jerry called. “What’s the score? Ten outta ten or is it more like a six and half?”

“I’m gonna beat Monty Python to death,” Brock said grimly, using his arms to hold up part of his weight and glaring alarmingly at the door.

“Were they Scottish?” Darcy asked, rubbing his shoulders comfortingly.

“No idea,” he said.

“Ignore him,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll play some music.” She started a random playlist with her phone. It was linked to the speakers in the lab.

“Are you going to continue screwing like rabbits?” Jerry called over the sound of a heavy bass and Britney Spears’s throaty warble.

“He has knives!” Darcy yelled at Jerry.

“That’s my girl,” Brock said. He ignored the interruption and smirked down at her.

”Kiss me again?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said. His hair brushed her face.

“Oh my God,” Darcy said, as he timed a thrust to one of Britney’s hiccups. “What the hell was in that HYDRA serum?” she asked.

“Only enough juice to amplify my natural gifts, baby,” he said.

 

***

“Did you tell them there’s no discernable biochemical difference between that orchid and any other orchid?” Bruce asked Jerry.

“I’d tell ‘em, Banner, but that would require ‘em to stop going at it like eels. Might not be able to separate those two with Cap’s shield,” Jerry said.

“This place,” Bruce said.

“Is there a problem?” Vision said, appearing in the doorway. Jerry jumped.

“You’re, uh, back? I thought you were with Wanda?” Bruce asked.

“No, no problem,”Jerry said, aware that Darcy would murder him by herself if Vision barged in on her naked.

“She and some of her new _friends_ wished to go to a music festival. I would have preferred her to stay indoors, but….” Vision said.

“She’s entitled to listen to a little Katy Perry now and again,” Jerry observed.

“Enjoy her life,” Bruce said. “She’s been through a lot.”

“I suppose so,” Vision said, drifting away. He often left without saying goodbye. He was chilly and aloof, when he wasn’t hovering over Wanda. Jerry wondered how old Wanda was. Twenty two? She seemed younger to him.

“That bastard gives me the right creeps,” Jerry said to Bruce.

“He’s why Pepper doesn’t let Tony play with robots alone anymore,” Bruce said.

“Didna start soon enough, if you ask me,” Jerry said.

 

***

Later, Darcy crawled on his back to examine his tattoos and rub his shoulders. Brock sighed. “What’s wrong?” she asked, kneading gently. He glanced at her over his shoulder, only half his face visible. It was funny, but Darcy realized that he didn’t make direct eye contact very often, unless he was in the grip of a strong emotion. Or inside her.

“I don’t want MacDuff to roll in here and tell us we’re cured because then this will be over,” he said.

“Who says it has to be over?” she asked.

“You’d see me again?” he said, frowning.

“Do you want to?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, “yeah.” He closed his eyes. “That feels good, baby.”

“You could ask me to dinner,” she prompted.

“Why? I’ve already seen you naked,” he said.

“Oh, you’re definitely back to your usual asshole self,” she said, digging her nails into his back. He groaned.

“Damn, that’s good,” he said. “I like your sex playlist, Lewis.” George Michael was singing “Too Funky” over the speakers. Darcy suppressed a laugh.

“Thanks,” she said. She was ninety percent sure it was just a really good Sephora playlist that her friend Gina had secretly downloaded for her when she worked at the store. Darcy loved Sephora. “I might refuse to have sex on anything like an air mattress for the foreseeable future,” she said. The plastic was kinda sweaty and sticky, like a pool floatie.

“That’s fair,” Brock said mildly. “Real mattress? My place?”

“Where’s you place?” she asked.

“The Bronx. I’m not making you dinner in Brooklyn, Lewis. I’m not that whipped,” he said.

“Not yet, you’re not,” she said, thinking that she could always counterfeit a prank Russian love serum to get him to visit her apartment. Tony and Natasha would help. It could be like Love Potion no. Nyet or something. He was suggestible, after all.

 

He chuckled.

  


_A few weeks later_

 

Tony’s Christmas party was in full swing. Jerry was repeating Darcy and Brock’s sex pollen story to a crowd of listeners. Jack Rollins was among them. Every time he told it--under the influence of Tony’s good booze--it got a little crazier. “So, we ken that there’s no actual sex pollen, but they’re at it like mad rabbits and I tell Banner, ‘Doctor, I think we’re going to need the jaws of  life to pry them apart!’ and Banner says, “just hit ‘em with a bleedin’ tranq gun, Jerry!’ and Bob and I from security finally break the door down and find ‘em passed out on the air mattress, stark naked--,” Jerry said. A few people laughed.

“That is completely not true,” Bruce said, shaking his head, as he wandered by with Tony.

“It’s a good story, though, and isn’t that all that matters?” Tony asked, slapping Bruce on the shoulder. “Besides, Itty Bitty and Old Stallone are smitten with each other.” They walked over to where Sam, Steve, and Thor were standing. Natasha was behind the bar and gave Bruce a sweetly luminous look.

“Aye, they are quite happy. Have a martini of the pomegranates, it is delicious,” Thor said.

“Pomegranate’s new to me, but it’s not bad,” Steve said, trying the drink. “Real festive.”

“Oprah’s favorite things,” Sam supplied. “Can’t go wrong with Oprah. Her and Gayle do a good drink.”

“Huh?” Bruce said. He’d been looking at Natasha.

“That’s cute, isn’t it?” Sam said. “He’s in love with the Soviet murder princess.”

“I think it is,” Steve said. Thor beamed.

“I am fond of love,” he said cheerfully. “I love Jane very much. Have I told you that when we were separated by the destruction of the BiFrost Bridge, I had Heimdall look for her every evening--?”

“Yeah, that’s a bit stalkery, Point Break,” Tony said.

“I think it’s sweet,” Rhodey said. “You could learn to check in on Pepper like that, Tony Stank.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony grumbled. He looked for Pepper. She was standing by a Christmas tree. He caught her eye and she smiled at him radiantly. His heart did a little skip that was completely unrelated to arc reactors.

 

On the other side of the party, Jack was moving towards Brock and Darcy. “A word, mate?” he said casually.

“Sure,” Brock said. “Be right back, baby.” He kissed Darcy and followed Jack to a quiet corner. “What’s going on? Our old friends at work?”

“Sex pollen, mate?” Jack said. “Really?”

“I don’t follow you,” Brock said. His expression was blank, voice casual.

“Don’t treat me like a bloody fool, Brock. You know damn well that sex pollen is fiction. You filed the reports after that mission in Peru. It was official SHIELD policy not to recognize the scientific validity of sex pollen because we’d observed it,” he said. “I’ve got your signature on employee manuals.”

“Do you?” Brock said. “I thought all those internal guidelines were destroyed when the building collapsed?” He smirked slowly. Brock had intended to ask Darcy out that week. The cupcakes were an overture, really. But he wasn’t a talker. He’d learned one thing from his undercover work though: when an opportunity presented itself, you had to be flexible. Roll with it a little. He’d rolled right onto that air mattress and not let her go.

“That is just bloody evil, mate,” Jack said, waving a ringed finger in his face. In response to his scolding, Brock shrugged. Brock’s morality had always been, well, a little more pliable than Jack’s own.

“So, she thinks I liked her so much I had a reaction to a nonexistent sex pollen?” he said. “Where’s the lie, Jack?”

“You aren’t right,” Jack said.

“Enjoy the party, Jack,” Brock said casually, patting his shoulder. “I’ve got to go rescue Darcy. Blue Man Group is trying to engage her in conversation and she looks uncomfortable.”

“Blue man group?” Jack said frowning.

“Vision. He’s been a little pissy since Darcy got Wanda into Columbia and Wanda discovered that all her friends don’t have to be weirder than fuck.” Brock chuckled. “Oh, whatever he’s said has her mad. I think she’s about two seconds from hitting him with Alice Cullen. Whoops, there he goes.”

“Ten out of ten!” Jerry called from across the room. Jane was moving towards Darcy in concern.

“He really should come with some paint splatter or something,” Brock said. Jack stared. He had no clue about Blue Man Group.

 

“Tony and his freaking robot armies,” Jane said, glaring down at a prone Vision. He groaned.

“Wanda--” he said. He half-opened his eyes, clearly looking for sympathy.

“She’s twenty, you creeper,” Jane said, crossing her arms and death staring him. He closed them again. “Make Hungarian food for somebody grown, you’re a forty-five year old man in robot clothes and she had no childhood.”

“You all right?” Brock said, as Darcy stowed her taser in her evening bag.

“He was weirding me out,” she said. “Got all up in my space. I did try to get away, but he blocked me and was going on and on. Pedantically. Like a blue Chris Matthews or Bill O’Reilly.”

“He crossed a line and you set a boundary, baby. I’m very proud,” Brock said. “You want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I’ve got this, you go,” Jane told her. “Mjolnir and I are going to have a talk about appropriate friends, too.”

 

They were walking out of the party and headed for the Bronx when Darcy looked at him and grinned. “I know,” she said.

“Know what?” he said, interlacing their fingers.

“Natasha leaked allllllll the SHIELD files, you dumbass, did you think she wouldn’t tell me that you played a trick on me with sex pollen?”

“It was a little bit of a trick, yeah,” he said, smirking down at her.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“You were a treat?” he offered. “You know how I feel about you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Me and Italian cream cake are your kryptonite,” she said. He put his arm around her and squeezed her against him.

“I’m all yours, baby. What’s your kryptonite?” he asked seductively.

“Timothy Hutton in a really good suit,” Darcy snarked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timothy Hutton in a good suit: https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/actor-timothy-hutton-performs-in-the-televised-movie-nero-news-photo/1605453


End file.
